


Run Me Like A River

by BlueEyesBlueSkies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyesBlueSkies/pseuds/BlueEyesBlueSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one-shot is the result of two glasses of wine with dinner. I apologize for nothing, because I am hopelessly obsessed with this pairing and have been depressed there hasn’t been anything new for them in awhile. ☺</p><p>PS this is not necessarily a happy one-shot, but it is sure as hell steamy, so buckle up folks. You could consider this dub/con, so be forewarned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Me Like A River

_Shut your mouth, baby stand and deliver  
Holy hands, ooh they make me a sinner  
Like a river, like a river  
Shut your mouth and run me like a river_

_Choke this love till the veins start to shiver  
One last breath till the tears start to wither  
Like a river, like a river  
Shut your mouth and run me like a river  
-Bishop Briggs, River_

Sansa felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach as an inhumane wail tore out of her throat, wrenching out from her soul to echo like the howl of the wolf in the night. Sobbing, she dropped to her feet and clawed and pounded against the stone floor, beating her tiny fists until the skin cracked open and rivulets of blood ran through the dirt crevices on the floor. 

The maids departed in a wordless flurry, mouths gaping wide with horror as the letter came to rest in the dirt by her knees, now stained in slices of crimson blood, mirroring the way she imagined Robb’s blood must have stained the floors of the Twins. Her mind spun, her heart ached so fiercely she was shocked a hole hadn’t yet opened up in her chest, and she slowly lowered her head until she was resting, cheek to cheek with the cool dampness of the stone, watching a fresh trickle of blood ooze out of her right knuckle. 

The door to her chambers burst open, and when she didn’t bother to raise her head or stem the tide of tears flooding her cheeks, she heard King Joffrey cackling with glee. “I see you’ve heard the wonderful news!” His sinister laugh echoed in the small room, penetrating her mind until the very words seemed to bounce off each wall of her head, piercing her straight to her heart. 

The toe of his black shiny boot came into view, and she watched in awe as the little rivulet of blood rolled slowly closer towards the tip, the threat of the stain edging ever closer. With a sneer and a snarl, she finally raised her head, piercing her beloved with a heated stare. “You stupid little fool,” she sneered, all courtly courtesies and woman’s honor forgotten when faced with the death of those she held dear, those who were to rescue you from the hell she’d found herself living. “Do you honestly think the death of my brother and mother would win you the North?” Her lip curled in disgust and amusement as she noted the little rivulet finally make its way, seeping in to stain the leather for the rest of time. Meanwhile he stood gaping like a fish, mouth hung wide as an angry red flush crept up his cheeks, turning him into a bright red buffoon. “Cat got your tongue, Your Grace?”

“Guards!” He shrieked, his whiny voice creeping up several octaves in the face of his rage. Spittle flew out of his mouth as his entire body began to shake, and with a swoop of her stomach Sansa was suddenly very much back in the present, and very much aware of the dangerous predicament she now found herself entrenched in. She sighed, the first true smile she’d smiled since before watching her father’s head roll on the ground blooming to grace her beautiful face. He couldn’t beat her, rape her, or anything else too tortuous any longer. 

She was the key to the North, no longer a sheep in wolf’s clothing. And it was time for her to remember. 

Eyes sparkling with fury, Sansa barely felt when Ser Meryn and Ser Trant lifted her by both arms, dragging her towards the Tower of the Hand. “Sneer all you will, my lady,” King Joffrey taunted over her shoulder. “It is time for you to meet your brother’s maker!” He clapped his hands in glee as she was bodily shoved into Lord Tywin’s chambers, brought to stand toe to toe with the great lion himself.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed as she raised her chin high, refusing to break his hardened gaze as she heard King Joffrey ramble on behind her. The boy king could prattle all he wanted. She was a wolf, and she was here to meet the lion. Once and for all.

“Leave us,” he rumbled, the words tumbling out of his chest and making her pulse race and the strong veneer she’d assembled start to fissure.

Joffrey stuttered behind her, more useless prattling from a boy who played a man, and with her head held high, Sansa raised her brow in challenge at the old wolf before her. 

His eyes sharpened as his pupils expanded, and he took two steps more until there was barely an inch between them. “Leave us and leave me to deal with the last Stark,” he snarled, lip curling with disdain as his eyes refused to leave hers. 

Vaguely, Sansa realized belatedly that she should be alarmed to the point of making water on herself at the look in the old lion’s eye. And yet, as she heard her escorts exits and the door slam shut behind her, rattling in its frame, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the glittering green before her. 

“You look well for a wolf who suddenly finds herself without a pack,” he drawled, eyes narrowed as he studied her shrewdly. 

Sansa’s nostrils flared as her eyes widened in anger, and with a shriek of rage she flung herself at the source of all her pain before her. Arms flailing, she wailed on his chest, pushing and tearing and pounding her fists as she released all the pain and anger she’d held inside for so long. She punctuated each blow with words, beating her fury into the chest of the man who’d taken so much, and who always seemed to come out ahead. “I hate you!” She shrieked, still smacking furiously, desperate to break through the wall to the man beneath. “I hate you all!” 

And as the tears started to stream down her pale face, the old lion easily caught her fists in his own, holding on tight as he walked her back towards the wall behind her, shoving until she smacked roughly and he enclosed her completely, cutting off her escape and pressing up tight until their bodies were flush and their eyes less than an inch apart. The glittering green had deepened to a bright emerald, and the slight crinkle of sadness at the corners as he shook her harshly and pushed in tighter took her breath away. “No, my lady,” he rumbled softly, bright gaze burning into her own. “And that, I believe, is the problem.”

Sansa jerked her head back as if she’d been slapped, and as she cracked it on the wall and sucked in a shaky breath she felt his lips crash down on her own. His lips her punishing, ruthless in intensity, dominating her own until his tongue was shoving past the seam of her lips and teeth and ravaging the inner wetness of her mouth. Sansa emitted a high whine from the back of her throat as his tongue twisted around hers, drawing it out in a dance for power, battling and sliding and turning until she forgot all else, until it was only him and her, for this one little moment in time. 

As he plundered his tongue in for more she gently closed her lips around it and sucked it into her mouth, moaning as she heard the old lion growl his pleasure down into her throat. Gasping back for air, head spinning, Sansa could only watch with a hooded gaze as those emerald eyes dipped down to her kiss-swollen lips, back to her disheveled hair where he’d fisted both paws, the up once more to the bright blue eyes peaking up at him. “My lady,” he ground out hoarsely, voice so low she felt it tighten in the pit of her stomach. 

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, cheeks flushed as she panted and fought to catch her head as it floated away towards the clouds. 

“You must marry to secure the North, my lady,” he rumbled, lashes narrowing around those bright green eyes as he studied her face, carefully gauging her reaction. “You must marry a Lannister.”

“I hate you all.” She fought to be strong, fought to be the wolf, but when her voice came out as a whine she knew she hadn’t fooled anyone, least of all the great lion himself. 

A twitch of his lips was all she needed to see, and fresh tears welled in her eyes as she plead wordlessly with the green swimming before her. “Please,” she whispered, hating the desperation in her voice, hating that she was begging a Lannister for anything in this world. She bit the edge of her bottom lip, still swollen from stolen kisses, and the groan that rippled out of the lion shot straight between her thighs, making her hips jerk forward in a silent plea for mercy from the man before her. 

He growled as he pushed his hips into hers, his hardness rubbing up between her skirts and giving her a hint of the friction she felt her body clench and quiver with need for. “I was going-“ his hips thrust forward once more as she felt his hands slide down the wall before the curved around her behind, palming the two globes tightly and making her moan; “to give you-“ a second thrust as the palms slipped down to the backs of her thighs, grasping through her heavy skirts as he took each one in hand; “to Tyrion-“ a third thrust and he was spreading her legs wide, lifting her up so her back was shoved into the wall as he forced his way between her legs and pushed his manhood tightly into the damp crease between her legs, finally giving her more of what she desperately craved; “but I think-” a forth thrust had her biting back a whine as he pressed in harder; “I shall keep you-” a fifth and she was throwing her head back with need, her gaze hazy as she felt her eyes roll back and she completely lost control; “for me-“ and then he was pushed so hard against her she had to wind her arms tight around his neck to hang on, her legs shaking from where he wrapped them around his hips, her mind spinning as she moaned out loudly in acceptance.

“Yessss, my lord,” she hissed, as he worked his hips into hers, and before she could finish he was striding purposefully towards his desk, dropping her down and grabbing hold to yank her roughly to the end. 

“To many clothes,” he grunted in frustration, before she felt a dagger split the front laces of her gown, cleaving it in two until he was yanking it roughly up and over her head, leaving her in only her small clothes, spread on the desk of the Hand before him. 

He began to undress, yanking off his doublet and fumbling with his breeches, and Sansa’s hips thrust forward towards the air unbidden, her mind spinning clear out of control as she felt the need, a need to feel, driving her forward until she was reaching towards his manhood when it came free and driving it towards where she was so wet and aching it nearly hurt. 

The hands that had spilled more blood than could be held in the Blackwater Bay were now sliding up her bare thighs to the top of her smallclothes, untying the bow and pushing them down as he jerked her hips clear to the edge, his eyes hungrily feasting on the auburn curls gracing her center as he bit back a groan. As the elegant fingers traced a dangerous path to dance in the curls he let out a loud growl of appreciation, leaning forward to nip her neck as she felt his fingers slide through her slickness. “Gods,” he groaned, his hand nearly sliding out fully coated before his fingers plunged back in, circling and teasing that little nub of pleasure she’d stumbled on a year before. “So wet, my lady,” he rumbled into her ear, his tongue tracing the shell as she clenched her fists on the end of the desk, desperate to hang on as wave after wave of pleasure began to run through her. “Is this for me?”

Her legs shook as she raised them to wrap tight around his hips, and she pulled him forward, shoving her aching center to the hardness she knew could take it away, arching her back as she nodded and whispered heavily. “Yes, my lord. Claim your rights as my future husband.” 

With a groan trailing into a growl, the old lion reached back and took hold of his pulsing manhood, thrusting it forward to slip through her wetness and plunge straight into the heart of her core. Sansa threw her head back with a cry, the sharp bite of pain stinging her center, until she felt him lick and nip her neck, easing the pain and waiting for her to adjust as he slowly began to move inside. He leaned forward, pressing her back painfully into the ledger balancing on the top of his desk, and the pain faded into sharp pleasure as she felt him curl his finger around her nub while his cock began to pump furiously into her. 

Sansa cried out and clutched him tightly, nails raking into his back as his hips smacked roughly into hers, his punishing pace sure to bruise, while his balls slapped between her legs on each slam between her thighs. And with a scream in his ear and nails drawing blood, Sansa felt her walls clench and shudder around him, milking his seed as he came with the roar of the lion, slamming into her and resting his head on her shoulder as they both road waves of aftershocks and fought to slow their racing hearts and shuddered breaths.

The old lion raised his head to look into the eyes of his beautiful bride, and with a smirk he narrowed his green eyes at hers. “Do you still hate all Lannisters, my lady?”

Sansa couldn’t fight her answering smirk, but with a delicate shrug of her shoulders she bit her lip and gave her reply. “You know I do, my lord. But, as you’ve said, the Lannister’s always pay their debts.” She leaned forward to whisper into his ear, tracing the shell with her tongue. “And I intend to collect.” His shudder of pleasure rippled into her core, and with a sigh their bodies began to move once more as they chased their pleasure into the night.


End file.
